Chapter 29 #2
I didn’t even give him a chance to throw out some bullshit.
“Honestly, the first thing that comes to mind when I think of my niece is resilience. Something she definitely inherited from her mother.” I glanced at my parents but didn’t pause my words, allowing them to flow freely without interruption.
“She lost her mother, and yet she dances, makes silly jokes, finds adventure and fun in every new thing that we try together.” The pissed-off son in me had finally vanished, and the proud, proud uncle took the lead.
“She is very clear about what she loves: unicorns, mac ’n’ cheese, ice cream, princesses, Peppa, and Bluey. ”
Bruce’s brows furrowed at the last two items named, but the mediator smirked.
“She sounds like a lovely girl.”
“She really is,” my mother interrupted, instantly causing a mix of yearning and indignation in my chest. I looked up. Too late to control my reaction.
“How would you know?” I’m pretty sure I growled, but now I clearly understood where the term Papa Bear came from.
My mother daintily cleared her throat as if parched from the fury tossed her way. If she had a fucking napkin, I’d bet she’d dab her lips, too. “Well, I’ve seen many pictures. She seems to enjoy the park and is an expert at the monkey bars. She should be a gymnast.”
Bruce piped in, “We will ensure she gets that opportunity in the finest facility.”
I sat back in my seat and crossed my arms, then quickly uncrossed them, avoiding the disgruntled teenager pose, even though facing them brought back that annoyed inner child. “Where did you see said pictures?”
My mother took a long sip of water, obviously conjuring a reaction. What kid didn’t love the park? Caught in a lie. “I’ve seen them on social media.” A flush crawled from her chest up her neck.
A scoff escaped me before I could regain composure. I placed my hands in my lap, clenching my fingers together into the tightest fist.
Perhaps sensing the rising tension, the mediator spoke. “Actually, speaking of pictures, I typically ask if the parties want to share a photo of the child and keep them out on the table. That way we can be reminded that we have a common focus here.”
My mother reached into her purse, and I whipped my phone out of my pocket.
She scrolled quickly and set hers at the center of the table.
I peeked up from digging through my album, needing to choose from hundreds of beautiful images of Abigail.
The one my mother chose was of Abigail hanging upside down from the monkey bars.
“That was a great day,” I said, glaring at my mother.
“I actually took that on my Nikon over a year ago. A moment later, she fell but stood back up, dusted off the grit on her knees, and climbed back up.” I looked to the mediator.
“That is the kind of girl Abigail is. I’ve seen it every day as she processes grief and still takes on the world. She is resilient.”
A few more flicks of my fingers on my screen, and I found the perfect picture.
I set my phone down next to my mother’s, two beautiful faces staring back up at us.
I caught my mother’s brief flinch as she moved forward and took it in.
Then she plastered on her sweet smile and nearly cooed, “Oh, how darling.” I swore her eyelashes were batting, but what I noticed most, or perhaps imagined, was the look of grief on her face.
An expression imprinted in my memory from years of seeing it after my father’s death.
A tickle built in my throat, and I gulped it down, turning to the mediator. “This is my sister and Abigail at her preschool graduation, shortly before her accident. It was the last photo I took of them together, of Caroline.”
The mediator nodded, her eyes closing briefly, sympathy filling her face. “It’s beautiful,” she began, but she was interrupted by Bruce’s sneer.
“Yes, he is quite the accomplished photographer. Has traveled the world. How are the travels going, Reed?”
I gritted my teeth and faced him, somehow managing to make my voice come out smoothly. “I believe the purpose of this meeting isn’t for a casual reacquaintance after six years of silence.” I turned back to the mediator but snapped right back to Bruce as he spoke again.
“Has it already been six years since the christening?” He looked me straight in the eyes as he rubbed his knuckles along his jawline.
A casual gesture, but I knew his intention.
And it worked. I immediately flashed back to how it felt to lay a punch in that very spot, visualizing him on the floor, looking up at me, vengeance in his eyes.
Brooke asked me at our dinner what their motivation for wanting custody could possibly be, and the question baffled me then but was clear as day in this moment.
My voice scratched in my throat. “Okay, so back to the topic of Abigail.” I turned to the mediator.
“She’s incredibly smart and loves learning to read.
She tries to read everything. She draws amazing creative artwork.
” I went to show her an example when my phone buzzed on the table. Daisy’s name flashed on the screen.
Fuck. She was probably checking in to see if she was picking up Abi today. I snatched my phone up and sent her to voicemail. “Abi’s babysitter,” I apologized, setting it back down. “She picks Abi up from school sometimes for playdates with her daughter.”
The mediator nodded and smiled, then patted the desk. “Okay, that actually leads me into our next topic. People in Abigail’s life.”
Another buzz from the table. This time Brooke’s name popped up.
I rubbed my face and snatched my phone from the table once again, sent her to voicemail and started to explain when Bruce piped in, “Seems we may need to discuss the people in Reed’s life.
Appears to be several women.” This motherfucker.
My hands tried to ball into fists around my phone, clenching it tightly.
Would my cell insurance cover it if I squeezed my phone into dust?
I loosened my grip and set my phone back on the table, this time displaying Abigail from this weekend, ice cream all over her face and a huge smile crossing her lips.
“My apologies, that was my lawyer. I’m sure she’s calling to check in on this meeting.
” At the word lawyer, Bruce raised a brow.
I nailed him with my own pointed stare that lasted far too long and said so very much.
Don’t fuck with me.
He was clearly looking for any excuse to throw me under the bus.
I turned my attention back to the mediator.
“We don’t have any family nearby, and other than the help of the neighbor down the street, it’s just Abi and me.
She just started school, though, so she loves her teacher and is making new friends.
I’m sure she’ll have some playdates set up in no time. ”
Bruce huffed from across the table, but I ignored him, knowing that if I engaged, I’d lose my shit on him this time. “I suppose those moms will be lining up for a playdate with the bachelor.”
Yep. Losing my shit. I veered my attention back to Bruce, trying my best to shield my look of disgust from the moderator.
“My role as a bachelor changed the moment I got the phone call that my sister had passed. I am now a single parent and am respected among my peers as such. Abigail is my number one concern and has been since she came into my custody. You will not diminish that. Especially when you couldn’t even manage to attend her mother’s funeral. ”
I exhaled loudly, realizing I hadn’t taken a breath since I turned my rage on him. The next voice I heard pierced my heart.
“I did attend, Reed.”
“Bullshit,” I spat at my mother. Her eyes were full of sorrow and her lip quivered, but all I could see was red. Certain that my eyes held lava-hot disdain, I expected my mother to back off, but she braced her hands in her lap and leaned forward.
Her voice was still calm, but there was a shake to it as she said, “I was there, Reed. I watched from afar, but I was there.”
All I could do was shake my head, and before I could speak my mind, I dropped my gaze to my lap, needing a few moments to shield myself from the other people in the room. Every emotion imaginable slammed into me the moment I heard her speak those words. Whether it was true or not, how dare she.
From the head of the table, the mediator cleared her throat. “So what I’m hearing is…” Sweet fucking Jesus. We really had to talk about this?
I placed my hands in front of me on the table with a thunk, and my voice came out gravelly as I turned my face toward the mediator. “Do we really need to talk about this?”
Her face softened, and with a nod, she said, “It’s my role in this meeting, to help move forward conversations that might support the direction of the final solution.”
Stretching my arms back, I gripped my neck, trying so hard not to pull at my hair, not wanting to take out my rage on this patient woman.
My parents were painting a picture that was so far from the truth, but with a calm demeanor.
Snarky comments, but nothing angry, and here I was nearly ready to throw my chair across the room and walk out.
The room became suffocating. All I could hear was the thrum of my blood racing in my ears. Tears of anger, frustration, and helplessness threatened to bubble up from the ball that was asphyxiating my throat.
With a hard swallow, I finally spoke. “With all due respect, there is far too much history in this room for us to talk through, and none of it applies to Abigail and who she belongs with.” I jabbed my finger toward my parents.
“These two people have barely met my niece. They are strangers, and it was of their own accord.” Again, I gulped the anger back down, gasping for air so I could continue.
“Why they want custody of a child they couldn’t give two shits about for the last five years is beyond me, but I will not sit here and listen to them spew more nonsense. ”